Authors: Robert
“And you will succeed, Lieutenant. Understand this; I had you brought here. You are here on my sufferance, not Michael’s. He wants you here out of pity. I want you here because you can be useful. So long as you’re an asset to House Keiths, you’ll stay here. ‘Our young lord’ may mist up over your plight, but I don’t. I don’t care if you wind up soothing his soul, warming his bed, or bearing his heir; you take orders from me, and if I decide you’re a liability, you
go
.”
***
Saturday, October 28, 3481.
Time: Early morning.
Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy. South of Worldsedge.
Rathiela was torn. She’d won the right to burn the masters’ bodies after they had finished pillaging the farm. Now, though, she was unsure of exactly how she wanted to do it.
After Dae had separated out his ration of the coal, with which he would burn the other buildings, she still had a hefty pile. She could arrange the coal in an elaborate pattern through the whole house, then light it. Or she could take her former masters, pile them in what would have been a compromising position if they were still alive, pack coal around them, and
then
light it. Either way, the place was going to burn – but anything worth doing was worth doing with some measure of artistic pride.
The decision-maker was the fact that she didn’t really care to lift her former masters’ bodies. Instead, she piled coal dust in such a way as to form a complete rune of fire, with lines of briquettes that led to the corpses. She had completed and was adding a few gloating charcoal drawings to the walls when it struck her that Dae had only taken about half of his coal ration. He should’ve been back several minutes ago.
She dropped the briquette she’d been using to draw and used a claw to prick herself on the forearm. She was just in time; an orc entered the farmhouse. It was the Reaver.
***
Derek finally settled down to try to sleep. He’d fought off Mycah’s Shadow’s eager questions by protesting that he was too tired. It was true; he was weary in a way that he’d never known existed before.
Mycah and Calarto had taken turns explaining the phenomenon of ‘biting’ weapons. He’d listened intently but learned nothing about them that he hadn’t experienced firsthand: weapons could be altered – somehow – such that they would cut through anything. Neither knew the real mechanics of how or why it worked.
The problem was making his head ache, but it was better than thinking about what else had happened in there. Twelve humans and one orc dead because he’d failed. And why had the weapon exploded? He shied away.
His arm. He could think about that. There was no question of it; the arm had been destroyed a little past the shoulder. The mediceps had already amputated it and sealed the wound. Now it was interfacing with the suit to contain the limb. Given a little time, it would harvest the raw materials, break them down, and provoke the growth of a new arm; until then, the suit would have to behave as if the arm was still working.
It had, he supposed, solved the issue of his dietary needs for some time. While he would be wise to eat and drink normally, his cybernetics were perfectly capable of recycling his missing limb for nourishment, if he didn’t mind the new limb being pathetically weak when it grew back.
There really was no good line of thought to follow, so he forced himself to sleep. He’d barely lost consciousness before he was jolted awake by Mycah’s Shadow.
***
Rathiela did not know why the Reaver suddenly flinched, but it saved her life. She shook a drop of blood onto the rune and barked out the command, “Burn!”
The flames leaped to life in response, and she dived out the window, grateful that she’d left the shutters unlatched. She hit the ground in a roll and sprang straight into a run; she couldn’t afford to look back to see if the Reaver was following.
***
“Derek! What are you doing? You’re broadcasting!”
“What?” He struggled awake. “I shouldn’t be…”
“You were – and it wasn’t just a little bit, you were
roaring
!”
He gritted his teeth and flinched in pain, then checked his traffic logs with growing horror. The machine was right. He’d been broadcasting his regular Subcontinent access request every night. It shouldn’t have been an issue – but on the first night, he’d integrated the suit’s dataspace with his own. That had inadvertently activated the flight suit’s communications suite.
When his broadcast hadn’t found any valid connections, it had automatically stepped up. When it reached his normal maximum, the suit had taken over and the signal strength had increased exponentially.
None of his friends had been able to detect it; Mycah’s cybernetics might have caught it, but before tonight she’d had no Shadow to interpret it. His Shadow’s comm suite had been broken.
There was no doubt in his mind that every orc in a megameter radius now knew exactly what direction they’d have to go to find him. He forced himself into full wakefulness, stood up and stretched; Calarto and Mycah stared at him.
He forced a smile. “Well, that was refreshing, who feels like getting an early start on the day?”
Mycah buried her face in her hands. “What happened now?”
***
Gorti pushed himself out of the burning building. He was blind. Or deaf. He wasn’t sure. The star’s song had lasted only a moment but it had overwhelmed him.
He had failed it, and it had punished him. He should have focused on the task and nothing else. He shouldn’t have killed the slaves; likewise, the second taerlae was irrelevant.
He’d needed the first. Drotak’s surprising counterattack had nearly killed him, leaving him almost devoid of energy. The rebellious slave was the perfect way to recharge, but the feeding had left him hypersensitive, and the star’s displeasure
burned
.
He struggled away from the building. He was lying on his back. He shouldn’t do that. Gorti forced himself over onto his stomach. Better. He wasn’t worthy to face the sky.
***
Mycah was tired, but she led the way. She’d only had about four hours of sleep, but Derek’s insistence that he’d accidentally given away their position – which, added to the rest of the night, really didn’t surprise her – had forced their hand. They started immediately.
Only minutes later, Derek spoke. “There’s one of the taerlae – he’s headed in our direction.”
“Where?” Calarto asked.
“Three hundred meters – that way. Running fast.”
“Chased?”
“Not that I can see. We may as well join up, right?”
Mycah met Calarto’s gaze. They both knew; if the other taerlae was trying to travel, he’d be going at a normal pace and trying to cover his tracks. If he was running, he was running
from
something.
“We may as well, yes.” Mycah glanced over the taerlae, unbuckled a dagger and offered it. He took it, then tapped his forehead with the backs of two claws in a gesture of gratitude.
“This way, then – or he’ll run right by us.” Derek led. “Hi there! Uh, lonatan!”
“Have you learned
nothing
?” Mycah hissed at him. “Quiet!”
Another taerlae came into view, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Calarto! Derek! We must hurry; the Reaver walks!”
Calarto grunted. “And Daerotai?”
“I did not see him.”
“Did you burn the bodies?”
“I started the flames. They may not have finished.”
Calarto shook his head. “Plan for victory if you wish for your enemies to laugh. Were you followed?”
“I do not know.”
Derek shook his head. “There’s nothing out there – not yet, at least.”
Calarto spoke. “Derek.”
“Yes?”
The taerlae turned and fixed the cyborg with a stare. “If Daerotai is gone, I am the oldest of our group. They are my responsibility. I must look after them – but I am also bound by honor to stay by your side until our debt is discharged. I do not ask this lightly. May I go?”
“I don’t want to offend you. Can I just…release you from your debt?”
“No.”
The newcomer spoke in the taerlae language. “Calarto – I can take your place.”
The elder responded in kind. “Are you sure?”
“I speak their language better. You sound like you’ve got a rock wedged in a very uncomfortable space.”
“How long has it been since I got a chance to use their language? Almost
fifty years
.”
“It shows. Besides. He does not know our peoples’ ways. He may feel uncomfortable around you; believe you intend to steal his mate.”
“Hey!” Both taerlae turned to Mycah. She continued in their language. “I am not his mate!”
“All human males are obsessed with all females of all races,” Calarto said. “I have seen this; Rathiela makes a good point. My presence might make him jealous.”
“It would give me a rare chance. If he is not her mate, then I might repay him in a way his people accept.” Rathiela waved at her own body. “I am better sent into danger than you. I have less to lose. Let this be a good thing, for once.”
Calarto nodded. “It would work. You know the plan?”
“I do, brother.”
Calarto turned to Derek. “Friend, may the Creator’s forgiveness fall upon you. I must go. Rathiela is my sister. She will stay with you to discharge our debt, to serve you any way you wish.”
“I’ll do my best to keep her safe.”
Calarto’s face twisted in confusion.
“He’s always like that,” Mycah said, still in taerlae. The elder nodded, then turned away. Seconds later, he was gone.
***
Dawn broke; they’d walked all night, mostly in silence. Rathiela had broken from their trail many times; she was astoundingly quick, and rarely made noise. Mycah had explained that the taerlae was laying false trails for their pursuer, hiding their tracks, and scouting.
Derek didn’t know if he could make himself care at the moment. He’d danced around the memories as much as he could, but it kept coming back. Twelve people had died – thirteen? Had the orc survived? He hadn’t even checked. They were all dead because of what he’d done.
He could rationalize the fight itself, to a degree. He hadn’t wounded the slaves. The orc had. He had fought stupidly, and some blame rested on him because of it, but even if he could hope for some forgiveness on a plea of ignorance, one conclusion nagged at him incessantly: he had caused the fight to occur.
He hadn’t seen enough orcs that he could tell them apart easily, but the orc he’d fought had been wearing a distinctive, black-and-grey outfit; a quick comparison to the other orcs he’d seen in his scans, including the laborers at the ship and the guards at the farm, revealed no matches. The only other orc that had been wearing that uniform was the orc that had shot Mycah. That implied that the two had belonged to the same group. It was no great leap of logic to conclude that the second orc had tracked him there. If he’d stayed with Mycah, it would have found him on watch. Even if the same fight had occurred there, nobody else would have gotten hurt; Mycah’s armor would have shrugged off the shrapnel as readily as his had. None of the slaves would have died last night if he’d just stayed on watch. That meant it was his fault.
Rathiela whistled, catching his attention. This was the first time he had seen her in good light. For a moment, the sight of her distracted him.
Rathiela’s face was exquisitely beautiful, with graceful cheekbones and fine, arched eyebrows, framed by a mop of wet, freshly-washed hair that was predominantly chestnut brown, banded with white. Her ears were slightly pointed and her hands were clawed, but none of her features were so inhuman as to be repulsive. Instead, they combined to make her intensely exotic.
Derek could also see how ragged her clothes were. They were obviously cast-offs and barely covered her curves. She looked so
vulnerable
. Derek realized he was staring and looked away.
“We should go to ground,” the taerlae said. “We’re too close to the city. We’re about a kilometer from where the trees end to the northwest. If we continue straight north we should find the Worldsedge. There may be somewhere we can hide there.”
“What is Calarto’s plan, anyway?” Mycah said.
“None of us have been in the city in years, but most of us left it through the eastern gate, near the escarpment. We agreed that it was the best avenue for your escape, so my kin will be providing a distraction for you on the other side of the city.”
“Okay. What do we need to know?”
“Let’s find cover first.” She flashed Derek a smile. “There, we can talk, and rest until nightfall.”